


darling, you got to let me know

by subjectiveobjection



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, OT3, frank burns eats worms, past trapper/hawkeye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 09:26:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19270432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subjectiveobjection/pseuds/subjectiveobjection
Summary: during the bug-out, bj finds something extra in the still. (aka i'm bitter at the ooc way they dealt with trapper after wayne rogers left.)this fic is set during 5x01, and the title is fromshould i stay or should i goby the clash.





	darling, you got to let me know

"Ah, go to hell, Frank," BJ mutters under his breath. Frank won’t let them pack the still, and now BJ has to find some way to make sure it comes with them without getting caught (or punching Frank square in the lipless mouth).

He sits down and stares at it. Even disassembled, it would take up too much space to be properly hidden on a truck. He screws his eyes shut, trying his best to think of something to do with it. When he opens his eyes, he’s blessed with the sight of Radar passing the tent. _Radar could finagle something_. “Radar!” BJ hollers.

“I’m right here, Captain,” Radar says, suddenly standing at BJ’s shoulders.

“Jesus, Radar, don’t-”

“Sorry for sneaking up on you, sir.”

BJ sighs and points at the still. “We gotta take this.”

“Yessir, but Major Burns-”

“To hell with Major Burns. You think you can figure out a way to transport this?”

Radar looks around, round eyes darting back and forth. “Well, sir, y’know, the Major isn’t letting Klinger take his dresses or me take my animals-”

“He’s not letting you take your animals?” BJ interrupts. “God, who even let him into the army? MD, more like mental deficient!” He’s not big on cussing people out, but Christ, doesn’t Frank possess even the _slightest_ ounce of compassion?

“I don’t think the Major is a very nice person, sir,” Radar says. “But- but don’ worry, because me an’ Klinger’ve got something figured out. Wat San Yee is letting us use his cab if we give him three of Hawkeye’s magazines.”

BJ laughs. He can save the still, and all it takes are nudie mags. “Nudist magazines, the first international currency. Okay, gimme ten minutes, and I’ll get the box with all the parts over to your tent.”

“Yessir.” Radar begins walking out, gazing at his clipboard on the way.

“Radar?” BJ says. The kid stops and turns around. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a stu _pendous_ clerk?”

“Oh, not to my face, sir,” Radar says before leaving.

BJ huffs a laugh. _That kid is something else,_ he thinks. He sets to work, twisting the tubes and unscrewing beakers, careful not to break anything. If he breaks something, then Hawkeye won’t be able to have a good- well, a _strong_ drink- when he gets to the new location. And he _is_ going to get to the new location, because he’s Hawkeye and nothing can kill him. His old CO died, his best friend left without a note, he’s seen countless kids die, and he’s still here, cracking jokes and attempting to set the record for amount of martinis drunk in a year. At this point, BJ wouldn’t be surprised if the man was immortal. He’s not gonna die just because the stupid North Korean army is attacking.

BJ needs a drink. There’s still a glass full of liquor, and he tosses half of it down. It tastes more like vinegar than anything, but it’s fine. Hawkeye’ll be able to tell what’s wrong, once he gets to the new camp- he’s always been better at the proportions than BJ.

He loads the last of the still’s parts into a box, and a flash of white catches his eye. He lifts the still’s stand, which is apparently hollow, out of the box. A roll of paper has been wedged into the bottom of the metal stand, and a piece of clear tape stretches between two of the three feet, securing the paper in place. BJ suddenly realizes what it is. He peels back the tape with something approaching reverence, and gently, he slides the roll out.

The paper is surprisingly unharmed, given that it’s been sitting there for months. It’s rolled insanely tightly- _if you splashed some brown paint on there, you could pass it off as a cigar._ BJ feels like he’s intruding on something, even just looking at it. It was hidden for a reason.

He grabs the letter with one hand and heaves the box containing the still under his other arm. As an afterthought, he picks up the half-full (half-empty, more like) glass and balances it on top of the box. He makes his way to Radar’s office, where the corporal is hurrying to finish packing his files. “Radar, I’ve got it,” BJ says. “Should I just-”

“Yeah, you can just leave it on that chair, sir,” Radar says, straightening up and pointing at a chair by the door. “What’s that?”

BJ looks down at the roll of paper in his hand. “Just a letter. Thanks again for taking care of the still.”

“No problem, sir,” Radar says, already engrossed in his paperwork once more.

BJ double-times it over to the post-up ward, martini in one hand and letter in the other, a weight on his chest. Hawkeye is alone- thankfully. He looks exhausted. “Buy you a drink, soldier?” BJ says, wiggling the glass under Hawkeye’s nose. “Not much left, but you probably don’t wanna be soused when you’re looking after a patient.”

He grabs it, slim fingers wrapping around the stem. “Thanks, Beej.” He downs it in one go, the muscles of his throat rippling as he swallows. His face crinkles. “Needs more corn mash.”

BJ had taken an art class in college- his advisor had said that many med students found it helpful. He’d loved the class, but he hadn’t really drawn much afterwards, aside from portraits of Peggy when she wasn’t looking. Now, he fights the urge to grab a pencil and sketch Hawk until the lead runs out. A few months back, Peggy had sent him a package of charcoal sticks, with a letter telling him to draw Hawkeye and send the portraits back to Mill Valley. The letter had included an almost extravagant amount of winking faces, and BJ smiles as he remembers it. God, he misses Peggy. She and Hawkeye- the two great loves of his life- would get along like a house on fire.

“You’re pretty chipper for someone who’s about to be overrun by North Koreans,” Hawkeye says, pulling BJ out of his thoughts. “Well, I guess I’m the one who’s going to be overrun, but either way, you’re not seeing me smiling.”

“Don’t say that. You’re gonna be fine,” BJ says. For a second, so much worry consumes him that he forgets all about Trapper’s note.

“Let’s hope.” Hawkeye hands BJ the martini glass. “What’s that?”

BJ follows Hawk’s gaze. “Oh. Uh, I found it in the still-”

“Like, _in_ the still?”

“In the stand. It’s hollow, apparently.”

“Oh, yeah,” Hawkeye says, raising his eyebrows. BJ can tell that Hawk knows what it is, so he hands it over without a word. “A little late for mail call, don’t you think?”

Someone outside hollers that they’re about to leave, and suddenly every part of BJ wants nothing more than to stay here. He doesn’t want to leave Hawk either, and suddenly he thinks he knows how Trapper felt, because how could _anyone_ want to leave Hawk?

“You should go,” Hawk says, sounding more tired than BJ’s ever heard him.

This is when BJ would kiss him. He _should_ kiss him. His wife has no objections. And from the sounds Hawk makes when they’re in the supply room together, BJ knows Hawk doesn’t object, either. It’s just the goddamned army that does, even though the army is why they’re here, and why BJ is thinking of kissing Hawk goodbye in the first place.

He settles for a hug. Hawk stands up, and BJ pulls him to his chest, aligning their bodies so they’re flush with each other. Hawk is warm and a little too bony and he smells of disinfectant (whether from the liquor or the hospital, BJ doesn’t know), and for now, Hawk is alive. BJ threads his fingers through Hawkeye’s dark hair, and Hawk’s long fingers curl around BJ’s neck and shoulder. There are _so many_ things that BJ wants to say, so many that he’s afraid they might start spilling out of his mouth without him noticing, but he thinks that he can condense them. “Love you.”

Hawk steps back a little. His eyes widen a bit, and then they crinkle at the corners, filled with a fondness that BJ is so immensely privileged to be on the receiving end of. “Love you too, Beej.” Hawk gives him a light push. “Get outta here.”

BJ nods. “Be safe.” Hawkeye salutes him- not a proper army salute, but it’s with his right hand, not his left. And then BJ walks out, and gets into a Jeep, and leaves the camp. The weight in his stomach never lessens.

…

Potter puts on a movie that night, and the entire camp shows up- except for BJ and Hawkeye. They sit on Hawk’s cot, playing chess, and BJ can’t stop smiling. Hawkeye Pierce is alive and well, and he’s sitting right in front of BJ. And losing spectacularly. “Checkmate,” BJ says.

“Agh! Ah, fuck you, Beej,” Hawkeye says.

BJ waggles his eyebrows, exaggerating the movement as much as he can. Hawkeye shakes his head and pushes BJ lightly. “What?! You left that one wide open,” BJ tells him.

“Well, you shouldn’t take advantage like that. You’re a pervert, young man,” Hawkeye says. BJ snorts as he continues. “Here I am, trying to enjoy an innocent game of chess, and you come and twist my words into some unrecognizable innuendo!”

“I learned from the master, of course,” BJ says.

Hawkeye grins cheekily. “Flatterer.”

“I humbly accept my title, good sir.”

“Ah, but there’s one caveat.”

“And what would that be?”

“You have to kiss me to seal the deal,” Hawkeye says. “It’s an old tradition.”

BJ snorts, but he leans forward and kisses Hawk. His lips are a little chapped, and he hasn’t shaved, and BJ loves him. God, does he love Hawkeye. He smiles into the kiss, and Hawkeye pulls back with a grin on his face to match BJ’s. “I know why _I’m_ smiling, why are you?” BJ asks.

“Well, we’re both alive, for starters.”

BJ smiles even wider. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.” Hawkeye settles back on the bed, propping himself up with one arm. “Thanks for finding the letter.”

“How was it?” BJ asks.

Hawkeye gets a faraway look in his eyes. “It- it was good. It was nice closure, or whatever. But Trapper’s gone, and he’s happy in the States. And I’m as happy as a draftee in Korea _could_ be.” He pauses, and he seems to come back to himself a little. “And I’ll write him tomorrow, but right now, I’m thinking we have some fun.”

“There’s still an hour left in the movie… supply room?”

“Your chariot awaits.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i miss my boi trapper and imo he totally wouldn't have left without some form of goodbye. thank you to @justalittlegreen for the prompt! the bug-out is one of my favorite episodes and writing this was super fun.  
> comments/kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
